


Naught-Tea or Nice

by SvengoolieCat



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q (background), M/M, MI6 Secret Santa 2016, Mallory tries, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SvengoolieCat/pseuds/SvengoolieCat
Summary: Mallory draws Moneypenny's name for the Secret Santa. What does one get one’s personal assistant, a woman who was once on the short-list for the Double-Oh programme? The internet wasn’t very helpful—did anyone actually ever enjoy getting monogrammed office supplies or tacky mugs with “World’s Greatest PA” on them?





	

Mallory thought Secret Santa would be a fun game. A nice distraction from the awful things in the world, a bit of harmless fun. It was nice to see the jaded and world-weary denizens of MI6 excited about something that didn’t have an edge of cynicism.

 _Harmless fun_ , though. He really ought to have known better. This was the premiere spy agency in the world. Of course Secret Santa would turn out to be something of a war/spy game. For weeks, agents and employees alike skulked around headquarters with bright gleams in their eyes and lock picks in their back pocket. Nothing was sacred. Suddenly everything a person did, said, drank, or wore was under scrutiny. Spycraft was happening at its highest and best levels.

It was a blast, actually. But he had no idea what to get his person, and no one to ask without giving everything away. After all, this was MI-6. If he had to ask a direct question, or if he looked like he was actively plotting something, he wasn’t doing his job properly.

No, no. Mallory made sure to ostensibly act no different than normal. He’d worked hard to cultivate the image of being slightly oblivious to the things going on around him, even if he didn’t really miss much. (Tanner kept a case of beer in his office. Q was Bond’s go-to partner in crime-committing. And other things, but Mallory wasn’t going looking under that rock. Q-Branch’s idea of casual Friday usually meant dressing as Harry Potter characters. Bond was Bond, and Mallory actively worked hard to not notice the man any more than strictly necessary.)

But Moneypenny. Now that was a challenge.

What does one get one’s personal assistant, a woman who was once on the short-list for the Double-Oh programme? The internet wasn’t very helpful—did anyone actually ever enjoy getting monogrammed office supplies or tacky mugs with “World’s Greatest PA” on them?

He briefly imagined her expression should such things cross her desk, and reminded himself that Q kept his best girl Friday in all the deadly accouterments she could want. Including, Mallory strongly suspected, exploding pens. It was the only explanation for this exchange he interrupted at the end of October:

_[“Don’t tell Bond,” Q whispered. He held out a glittery purple pen, the tackiest eyesore Mallory had ever witnessed. “Our little secret.”_

_“Deal,” said Moneypenny, gleefully clicking the pen three times, paused for a couple beats, then clicked it twice more. “Anyone who steals this gets what they deserve.”_

_The two of them giggled disturbingly._

_“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” Mallory said, sweeping by. He made a note not to steal any pens from Moneypenny.]_

His PA was deadly enough. Perhaps he should avoid giving her even more ammunition. He let the problem percolate in the back of his mind for a while.

“Moneypenny?” Mallory leaned in the doorway of his inner sanctum.

The woman in question paused in opening an envelope with a letter opener shaped like Sting from _The Hobbit_.

“Did we ever get clearance from Psyche to send 009 back out?”

“No sir,” she said. “They want to medicate and put him in a padded room.”

“We should let them,” Mallory grumbled. “Please draft a strongly worded email to 009 and tell him vacation’s over, stop terrorizing Psyche, and stop…” he trailed off, not sure what latest kind of crazy he was dealing with.

Moneypenny shuffled the papers on her desk until she found the one she wanted. “Answering all questions regarding his mental health using song lyrics.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Apparently he sang them while standing on Dr. Roswell’s desk and has a lovely voice. Also a preference for show tunes. Not much of a dancer, though.”

“ _Strongly_ worded email. We need him on the ground in Berlin by the end of the week.”

“Of course. And Bond finally turned in his mission report.” She held out a file for Mallory to take.

“How much of it is creative writing?”

“Oh, most of it. Him and Q are getting better at corroborating their stories, though.”

Mallory knew that, but he grimaced anyway. “Plausible deniability, if you don’t mind.”

Moneypenny tried to hide a smirk in a cup of tea, then grimaced and set it down. “Bad tea is bad enough. Cold bad tea is worse.”

“Budget cuts. When you get a fresh cup, bring one for me too, won’t you?” Mallory said, retreating to his office and resigning himself to reading a highly fictional account of Bond’s latest adventure in Peru.

Moneypenny dropped a cup of tea off about fifteen minutes later, and yes, it was god-awful. He was pretty sure that dishwater would have more character. He’d have to start bringing decent tea in from home, at this rate.

…Which gave him an idea.

****

In Covent Garden there was a place called, with true British straightforwardness, The Tea House. Mallory looked it up online before going and was not disappointed when he arrived. The place smelled amazing, with various blends of tea and samples available for testing.

There was tea, and there was _tea_. The former came from bags in a box, and because of budget cuts, the tea stocked in the break rooms tended to be the cheap swill you drink when there’s literally no other choice to be had, rather like the Folgers or Maxwell House of the tea world. The latter sort of tea was perhaps a bit more pretentious and a bit more work to make, but worth it in the end. Mallory had it on good authority from the resident king of Earl Grey, that The Tea House would fulfill all Mallory’s tea-related needs.

“How can I help you?” asked the attendant.

“I need a gift assortment of black teas. And,” something caught Mallory’s eye. In the middle of each table was a little glass pot of tea on a glass warmer. Inside the warmer were tea light candles. “What are those?”

“Tea warmers, sir.” The girl behind the counter showed him one. “Look, if you want to keep your cup or pot of tea warm, you light a candle and leave it inside the warmer, right here, see? The heat conducts through the glass and keeps your beverage hot for as long as the candle is lit.”

She poured a small sample from a pot on a warmer for Mallory to try. The tea burnt his tongue and the little sample cup was a bit too warm for his fingers, but Mallory was enchanted with it anyway. No more cold tea! How ingenious was that?

“Excellent,” he said. “One of those, too. Make that two. I want one for me.”

The girl grinned. “Would you like your gifts wrapped as well?”

“Please. If she sees my poor wrapping skills, the jig will be up in an instant. And I don’t want anything leading back to me.”

******

Getting the gift to Moneypenny was the easy part. All he had to do was leave it on her desk while she was out of the office and wait.

“An admirer, Miss Moneypenny?” Mallory heard Bond’s smooth tones through his door.

“Secret Santa, I think. You’re on time for your appointment for once, it’s truly a Christmas miracle.”

“Are you going to open it?”

“Of course. Now go in, you’re going to be late.”

“Technically I am here. Come on, Moneypenny. What is it?”

“Spies. You’re worse than a cat. Or a child.”

There was silence. Mallory could only imagine the staring contest.

“You just want to make sure I didn’t get an exploding pen or anything.”

“Eve, there is a brightly colored box wrapped in ribbon on your desk. What if it’s dangerous? I’m here as backup. Do you hear ticking?”

More silence.

“That’s an awful excuse, James Bond. There’s no ticking. And don’t give me those eyes, they won’t work on me.”

Silence again.

“Fine,” she said.

“It’s tea,” Bond said, sounding puzzled.

“Correction, Bond. It’s _good_ gourmet tea and I’m not sharing. And what’s this…oh, a tea warmer! I’ve seen them online. You use a candle with them.”

“How come you get fire?”

“I’m a trustworthy adult who doesn’t blow up embassies.”

“Anymore.”

“Shut up, Bond, that only happened once and it wasn’t my fault. Go pick up your next case assignment and get out of my hair.”

Mallory opened his door.

“Bond, if you annoy her, I’ve given her permission to shoot you again. In the arse.”

“Oh no, not my arse,” Bond said brightly. “That’s my best feature. I work hard on it.”

Mallory just closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long Wednesday, he could just tell.

**Author's Note:**

> __  
> There actually is a place called The Tea House in London. And it looks amazing, check it out: http://www.theteahouseltd.com/
> 
> And tea warmers do exist, you can get them on Amazon! (Also they work beautifully)


End file.
